Lost and Found
by Magical Maeve
Summary: A oneshot looking at Neville's Grandmother's reaction to the news of her son's torture.


I remember the day they told me that my son was lost. It was a fine June day, the kind where the sun rises early, dragging everyone up with it. I was busy making snapdragon scones for the afternoon meeting of the local W.V.S. Marguerite Fanshawe was making a filipendula sponge cake, but she always puts too much butter in the mix and it's usually a disaster. I had planned to make double the amount of scones to make up for it. Of course, our local community thought that we were just a branch of the local Muggle Women's Institute, so we did nothing to disabuse them of this rather absurd notion. As if witches of our standing could be as mundane as those silly women who make jam all day and talk about knitting. Although Felicia Jones used to do some lovely things with unicorn tail hair mingled with ordinary sheep's wool.

So sorry to digress, but you see, that morning will remain planted in my mind forever, as vivid now as it was then. The sharp knock on the door made me jump, causing me to almost drop several eggs, which would have been a disaster because they were golden goose eggs bought specially in Diagon Alley the previous week. I wiped my hands carefully on the tea towel. It wouldn't do to answer the door with floury hands – you never know who it might be. In this instance it was two rather officious-looking gentlemen who introduced themselves as Howard Micklefield and Tobias Clinker. I invited them in, and they were very eager to accept my offer of tea and biscuits, wolfing down my best sugarsnap thins in minutes as they tried to get to the reason for their visit. I knew, of course, the moment I clapped eyes on them what it was about. As I made the tea, my hands shook, and I had to use the older china for fear of dropping the best tea set.

"Mrs Longbottom," Clinker said to me. He looked shifty and wouldn't meet my eye, but I didn't stop looking at him as he imparted the information about Frank and Alice. At first I thought the news was good. My son and his wife had been recovered and were now at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies. I was about to get my hat and coat when I noticed that the look on the other gentleman's face was less than encouraging. He sipped his tea and avoided my eye almost as well as his companion. It was Clinker who finally told me exactly what had happened. He informed me of Frank and Alice's capture and tried to evade telling me exactly what happened, but I fixed him with my steely gaze and told him in no uncertain terms that if he didn't tell me immediately what had happened to my son I was going to get very angry indeed. He picked at his robes nervously; in fact he did this so much I'm surprised there was anything left of them by the time they finally left

That was when the Cruciatus Curse was mentioned and I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, just what state my child would be in. I put down my cup and saucer carefully to avoid spilling anything on the new Axminster carpet and faced them with as much dignity as I could muster in the circumstances. I told them I appreciated their time in coming to tell me of this event, and that I would make arrangements to visit my son and his wife as soon as possible. They both nodded sympathetically and I could see they thought I was an unfeeling old harridan, but one should never let one's feelings show in situations such as this. I feel it is always best to deal with the practical first and keep a tight rein on one's emotions until one is free to deal with them.

Once they had finally gone, I packed a small bag and prepared to leave the house for London. As I looked around my tidy sitting room I couldn't help wondering what my ancestors would think of me. Perhaps crises make us more introspective than we would ordinarily be – more self-critical. Was it something I had done that had made Frank become an Auror? Did he feel that his life had not been exciting enough and that he needed to pursue danger?

We had never been rich, not in the way my grandfather had. He had owned a large swathe of herb farms that supplied many of the finest apothecaries in the wizarding world, both in Britain and on the continent. The Fylde Coast on the north-western fringe of England is not generally the best place for growing these things, but with a bit of magical encouragement, the herbs flourished and he made his fortune. The change in Minister for Magic back in the late thirties put paid to his lucrative business by cutting the subsidies and making it thoroughly unprofitable. Now, most herbs come from abroad or are mass-produced in the south using less than ideal methods. So the money leached away and I was left with my parents' large house in Manchester and this little cottage in Fleetwood. I sold the house when my husband died and so there I was, with my respectable existence, my happily married son and my new grandson. That was all before the Lestranges cruelly swept it away.

I was so proud of Frank. He did extremely well at school; never a moment's real trouble from him. He had lots of friends, and when he met Alice we all knew they were just made for each other. I still take his photographs out and look at them fondly, such a nice boy he was. He was very well regarded, both at school and later, when he became an Auror. I just wish he had had more time with his boy. Perhaps then Neville wouldn't have been quite so hopeless, and hopeless he undoubtedly is. I do love my grandson, but sometimes I look at him and can't see his father at all. I even gave him his father's wand to try and encourage him to be more like Frank, but I accept now that that might have been the wrong decision to make. He has a new one after all the trouble at the Ministry and he seems happier with it. I put the broken pieces of Frank's wand in the little box I have with all his personal things in it, although I do wish it were still in use. I always felt that Frank was still around with his wand in the hands of his son.

Neville has just gone back to school after the long summer holidays. They are always such a trial to me because, although I enjoy spending time with him, it is always difficult to fully occupy him to my satisfaction. He spends so much time out in our garden that some days I never see him. His cousins come round to try and entice him away from his plants, but it never seems to work. He just says he has other things to do and they go away again. I do wish he would spend more time with other people his own age and not just his vegetation. However is he going to gain the respect of the community going around talking to plants and falling over things?

I have digressed again. I was telling you about the day I went down to London to be with my son. So, I took my bag and a handful of Floo Powder and was in London in a blink of an eye. Marvellous how well-developed the Floo network is these days. It wasn't always like this, you know. I remember back before You-Know-Who was even a nasty leer in his father's eye, when you could jump in a fireplace and end up Medusa knows where. It was fun when we were little, but it grew rather irksome, as I got older. Now, of course, with the addition of Bourt powder to the original recipe you are guaranteed a fast and successful trip.

St Mungo's was always a confusing place, but a young welcomewitch took very good care of me and showed me up to the ward were poor Frank and Alice had been taken. I have never liked hospitals after the incident with my grandmother and the Punch and Judy man on Blackpool Pier. We had to wait hours while they tried to remove Mr Punchs' arm from her ear and the man – I forget his name – who ran the Punch and Judy stand was severely reprimanded by the Ministry for using magic in view of Muggles. Of course the Muggles all thought it was part of the show, and were none the wiser, but it could have been tricky.

I walked slowly down the ward when the welcomewitch left me to it. My shoes made a soft squeak against the polished floor and a few pillow-bound heads turned in my direction. I kept my head up and managed to keep a steady lip as I made my way to the two beds that were at the furthest end of the white ward. I held tight to my bag as I approached the first bed and saw Alice's strained face. She was sleeping, or under some enchantment to keep her calm, and her pretty hair fanned out around her once lovely face. I patted her sleeping arm gently and felt the first indications that I might not be able to get through this night without revealing my emotions. I knew I would have to move to the next bed, despite my reluctance, to have the diagnosis confirmed by my own eyes.

Frank had turned into my little boy again. He was sleeping soundly with his arms flung wide just as he used to. A dribble of saliva had escaped from his mouth and I pulled out my clean handkerchief to wipe it away. He flinched a little beneath my touch, but did not open his eyes. So this was my life now. Two adults made back into children who could no longer think for themselves. No doubt they would shortly be moved to the closed ward and taken away from the real world for good. Not that they already hadn't been taken from the real world by the actions of the foulest evil that has walked this land. I pulled up the small chair that stood guard by the bed and sat down, placing my bag carefully by my side. I bent my head in acceptance of what had happened and waited for the Healer to come and tell me exactly what they could, or couldn't, do for Frank and Alice.

As expected, they could do nothing. Oh, the Healer was very sympathetic and made all the right noises, but he didn't understand. He wasn't really interested when I told him all about Frank's career, nor did he bat an eyelid when I told him what a great loss my son was to the wizarding community. He just looked at me with a patronising smile on his face and informed me that there was the small matter of the child. I knew what I had to do, and it was one of the saddest moments of my life when I accepted that I would have to bring up my own grandson because his parents could not.

Another, more sympathetic, junior Healer was sent to take me up to the small nursery ward. Neville was fast asleep in a small cot, his thumb firmly stuck in his plump mouth. I was told that he could stay there for the night but that I would need to make arrangements for him at some point the following day. I nodded and informed them that he would be coming home with me as soon as he awoke. Once again I set up a lonely vigil by a bed, but this time I knew there would be an awakening. This time I would have to answer some of the boy's questions. He would want his mother and father. What did I have to give him? Just an old grandmother with a small life in Lancashire and all the love in the world to give him. But would it be enough? As my head nodded against my chest out of exhaustion, I felt the soft warmth of a tear slide down my old cheek. This was never how it was meant to be.


End file.
